


The Things Worth Preserving

by lee_andrews



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Dorian is friends with Morrigan, F/F, Morrigan and Solas connected through Mythal, Post-Canon, Solas/Morrigan if you squint, Tevinter, so is Shale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24470137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lee_andrews/pseuds/lee_andrews
Summary: Post-Inquisition. The ones who know the truth are preparing for the return of Fen'Harel, and Tevinter may hold much useful knowledge about the ancient elves. Dorian takes the Witch of the Wilds and her golem friend back home to proceed with investigations, and so Morrigan gets to know Magister Tilani at Saturnalia. (Sorry, I really suck at summaries.)
Relationships: Maevaris Tilani/Morrigan
Kudos: 4





	The Things Worth Preserving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vlad_chatsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlad_chatsky/gifts).



> A little remark on my headcanon: in it, Morrigan and Solas are connected through Mythal's essence, allowing Solas to be present in her dreams and read some of her thoughts, potentially even command her though not to the extent Flemeth could. Morrigan drank out of the Well of Sorrows which made her susceptible to the will of Mythal and Solas has absorbed (a part of) Mythal's power from Flemeth. Additionally, during their time in the Inquisition, Solas and Morrigan have developed a sort of annoyed fascination with each other, spending a lot of time together arguing about history and magic, and neither of them is quite willing to let this bond go now that they are technically enemies.

Maevaris Tilani knew all the dark corners of her estate which always came in handy during these crazy Saturnalia parties she was holding every year. Every. Damn. Year. Such was the burden of a Tevinter magister or, more precisely, such was the burden of a person who was best friends with Lord Dorian Pavus. The party this year was, however, by far the most scandalous and simultaneously the most enjoyable one for Maevaris herself.

“Lord Dorian Pavus brought his barbarian friends from the South…”

“The woman is not half bad to look at though…”

“But the golem! Such marvel, I wonder if anyone could sell me a control rod for this…”

“Bah! I don’t think you can have a control rod for THAT!”

No, Maevaris thought to herself, these ladies won’t let anyone control them; they’d sooner eat you alive and not even choke once, you naïve darlings. Oh but they were absolutely refreshing. The golem introduced herself as Shale, called everyone “it” in a booming voice and kept making very fitting sarcastic jokes about everyone she met. The woman – Morrigan – was all mysterious and full of quiet irony and steady, albeit venomous confidence the moment anyone dared say anything in the least insulting to her. According to Dorian, she had spent several years at the imperial court in Val Royeaux and, by the Maker, did it show. One could only learn such polite cruelty there or in Minrathous. Fereldans were too straightforward, antivans too passionate, nevarrans too absorbed in matters of death, rivaini too out-there, anders too stoic and marchers too independent.

Why were they here? everybody wondered. Maevaris hasn’t yet had the chance to talk business with the ladies, but Dorian previously hinted at something very important, something to do with ancient elves and a threat bigger than Corypheus. It’s all been rather hectic, since they’ve only arrived yesterday night and Dorian, unusually paranoid, didn’t want to trust anything to paper beforehand. Something big was coming up and Maevaris didn’t like it one bit. Things were just starting to fall into place here at home. The Lucerni were slowly, but steadily gaining influence and support, the ties Dorian had with the now disbanded Inquisition and the Southern Chantry were attracting attention and curiosity of local lords. Most people in positions of power were still insufferable morons, but at least here and there, folks started listening. And now it might all get destroyed because of yet another ancient jerk, crazed by power fantasies like Corypheus or whatever. Terrific.

“You are very carefree around all this scum,” said a deep female voice and Morrigan stepped from the light of the doorway into the shadow of Maevaris’s corner. She had two glasses of wine with her, one of which she offered to the hostess. Maevaris accepted it and they toasted… well, something. No words had been said, really. So it could have been anything, from the current occasion of Saturnalia to their respective beauties: the crisp freshness of Maevaris and the exotic dreaminess of Morrigan.

“They are mostly harmless, of course,” Morrigan continued lazily. “Me and Shale, on the other hand, are quite dangerous.”

They could hear the golem reciting yet another deliciously dirty limerick to the star-struck crowd in the salon. Maevaris smiled.

“You know who is even more carefree than me? Dorian. But he has a rather splendid nose for foul play. If he says you are a good and nice witch, then I trust him.”

“You cannot expect me to believe that Dorian called me ‘nice’,” Morrigan laughed.

“No,” Maevaris conceded, “that was not quite the wording he chose. But it still made you sound pretty trustworthy.”

After a little pause, Morrigan said. “Sometimes I would like to set assemblies like this on fire – no offense to you, dear madam – but all this false revelry, all this sleaziness and hypocrisy… Makes my skin crawl and I can turn into a giant spider who eats human flesh.”

Now it was Maevaris’s turn to laugh. “None taken. Sometimes I want to set this on fire too and this is _my_ house. Judging by what little Dorian could tell me, this might be our last moment of relative peace.”

“I think there is a little bit more time left for us,” shrugged Morrigan, “if I know the old wolf well. He is not yet ready to swallow this world.”

“He keeps you informed?” Maevaris raised an eyebrow.

“We… talk… in dreams,” Morrigan seemed curiously embarrassed by the question. “It’s complicated.”

Maevaris mentally stored this topic away for a time when they both would know each other better. Instead, she said. “Work tomorrow, celebrate today?”

“´Tis a healthy perspective,” there was some sadness in the witch’s voice, as if she had left someone important behind. Someone she’d want to be with her on a holiday. A lover? A friend? A family member?

The clock on the tower outside struck midnight and Maevaris raised her almost empty wine glass in the air. “Here’s to my most pleasant company to start the new year with.”

The two glasses clinked and Morrigan seemed to regain her ironic composure.

“Dorian told me all sorts of wicked lies about Tevinter on the way here. For instance, that it is customary to kiss the people you toast at midnight during Saturnalia. Looking at your pompous fools of magisters I cannot really picture them kissing each other during feasts.”

“Actually, that one is true,” Maevaris smiled. “It is an old tradition. A kiss of happiness, as it is called, is nothing scandalous, just a little token of acceptance and gratitude. Those are so rare in my country, unfortunately.”

“That is most curious indeed,” Morrigan was slowly considering this new information. “Though, I imagine I must be grateful I am not in a room with magister Clavitus. From what Dorian told me, the only kiss that moron deserves is the one with poison on your lips.”

And then, before Maevaris could have said anything, the witch stepped forward and kissed her. It was a fast, but very decisive peck on the lips, and it tasted like a wild monsoon.

“Some things are worth preserving in this world, milady,” Morrigan smirked.

This is going to be a very interesting year, Maevaris thought to herself, mesmerised by the fiery yellow witch eyes.


End file.
